The 213th Hunger Games
by wwheisenberg
Summary: SYOT OPEN! The sequel to the 212th Hunger Games (obviously) but don't worry it won't rely too heavily on the first one (it will essentially stand on it's own). Will the tributes prove the Capitol wrong about the nature of humankind? Or will they behave like the 'selfish malignancy' that the Capitol expects?
1. Introduction

"Just so that you and I are clear-as you know I do believe in plain speaking-the former Head Gamemaker was very wise to end his own timeline. Do you appreciate why?" The president's hand rested on the knee of a crossed trouser leg and swirled a glass of amber liquid.

"Very well," said the new Head Gamemaker, who sat stiff and upright in a dark leather chair. One hand grasped at the brass hemispheres embedded along the perimeter of chair's arm rest, and the other held a glass.

"This is normally the part where I would ask you to imagine yourself as a plebe, a varmint denizen of the district warrens. Imagine you see what they saw with that tribute, that Rye Kuna, exposing the little caper we recruited him for and having enough honor and-frankly-balls to end his very own timeline outright. Now imagine if suddenly every little rabbit, and mouse, and rat working in the districts suddenly grew the same honor and balls and decided to end their very own timelines. If they weren't afraid to die, imagine what they would be capable of-is normally what I would say, but I can see that you are sharp and don't need such things spelled out."

"Indeed, sir."

"Your predecessor was very sharp too. Hopefully that is where your similarities end."

The two men gazed at each other. The president seemed to have a perpetual flame burning in his office that created an eerie, flickering light in the dim room. The man himself had a topographically intricate face. His eye sockets cast shadows over their eyes, and he seemed to ebb and flow from cheek to chin. The flickering light and his shadow-prone features made him look spectral and haunting. The Head Gamemaker was consistently overriding impulses to avert the president's gaze.

The Head Gamemaker cleared his throat: "'Give the people what they want-breads and circuses.' 'Panem et circenses.' Hence the name of our great nation. Our power is invariably tied the games. But we've had enough circuses. What we need is to divide, not by clever plans or designs, we had enough of that in the last game. If the last Head Gamemaker simply would have let nature run its course, a far better outcome would have resulted than by his meddling. This game will rely on the selfish malignancy of human nature to drive itself: Bellum omnium contra omnes. War of all against all."

"Bellum omnium contra omnes..." the president softly released from his mouth, "it's beautiful..."

The Head Gamemaker raised his glass. It was nearly the first time he'd moved during the entire meeting, and the squeak of the leather interrupted the grace of his gesture. The president's eyes followed the man's glass. The president formed a thin smile.

"Make it so." The president raised his own glass.

**SYOT OPEN! The list of characters will be in the next chapter. Check my profile for the tribute form and make sure to PM it to me once completed. Forms left as reviews will not be accepted UNLESSS you don't have an account. If you leave a tribute form as a guest review, then I will save the info before deleting the review. That way everyone can submit! **


	2. Tribute List

Tribuets in the 213th Hunger Games

D1 female- Pearl Lopea  
D1 male- rCasimar Baudin

D2 female- Pebble St. Pier  
D2 male- Jackson Flint

D3 female- Pixel Arlington  
D3 male- Eol Farraday

D4 female- Marcella De Campo  
D4 male- Cefin Snider

D5 female-Luke Malvina  
D5 male- Lizzy Malvina

D6 female-  
D6 male- reserved

D7 female- reserved  
D7 male- Morris Linquist

D8 female- reserved  
D8 male-

D9 female- reserved  
D9 male-

D10 female- Jade Dighe  
D10 male-

D11 female-  
D11 male-

D12 female- Luna Fae Arduenna  
D12 male-

D13 female-  
D13 male- Hadley Malone


	3. District 4 Reaping

Three teenage boys left parallel footprints in the sand. The sun was high above them and it lit up the crystal water that crashed onto the beach. The figures made their way towards a stone jetty, which was never enjoyable to walk on because the rocks were always sharp and usually hot. Far out along the jetty there were several small sailboats moored.

"That sounds like quite the catch!" exclaimed Cefin Snider, keeping his eyes on his footing, as the three boys traversed the rocks.

"Ugliest damn bluefish I ever caught, but not even close to the smelliest." The boy to Cefin's right followed this with several high-pitched staccato chuckles. Cefin squinted at the boy, then held up a hand to block the sun. He watched closely at the way the boy's adam's apple moved during his laugh.

"Ha ha!" Cefin copied the laugh, trying to feel his adam's apple move in the same way. The boys neared their boats. Cefin usually fished alone, but he had run into these two along the beach path that ran behind the district, so they decided to walk together.

"Hey Ce, Laurel says you reeled in a pretty big stripe-er the other day? Is that right."

"Oh yes, ha ha," Cefin replied. He flattened his swept blonde hair.

"Well how frickin big was it, man?" The boy on his left turned to him.

"Uh…" Cefin didn't remember how big the fish was nor did he care. He held out his arms at what seemed like an impressive length but also one that would be believable.

"Oh shit!"

"Nice, Ce"

"I reeled it in and then looked at it when it plopped into the boat and thought 'wow!' I felt happy!" Cefin told them. His boat was located the most proximally to the beach along the jetty, so he reached his first. He lowered his rod from his shoulder and knelt down to undo the makeshift cleat. The dingys kept along this particular jetty were old and rusty, but they were sea worthy, and the teenage boys of District 4 made do with what they had.

"It was nice talking to you, fellas!" Ce said as the other two continued along.

"You too! Maybe we can compare catches if we get in at the same time. If not, maybe we'll see you at the reaping tomorrow!"

Cefin's back was turned to them. He made laughing sounds without smiling, as he stepped into the boat and pulled the ropes in. He raised the top sheet and took hold of the rudder, dangling one foot over the side (no matter how he sat, the 5'9 14 year old couldn't seem to fit it in the tiny sailboat). He angled his small craft against the wind and cut wake through the blue water.

* * *

"Marcella, will you please put your dish away," her mother more exhaustedly whispered than asked. Marcella pretended not to hear. She sat at the kitchen table and colored. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched her tall, slender mother move a broom back and forth across their kitchen floor. Her mother wore a long skirt that Marcella thought was ugly.

"Marcella, I said, will you please put your dish away when you're done eating?"

"I'm not done eating," she adjusted her grip around a green crayon her father had gotten her while on business in the Capitol, "because you didn't make the dessert I asked for, mommy." Marcella was very young when this happened, but she was still too old to be saying 'mommy.' It's surprisingly disturbing to see a child use sarcasm in such a manner.

"Sweetie, you know I don't have the ingredients for it," the tired woman said from behind the broom.

"I guess that's not my problem, mommy."

Again came the sigh that Marcella was so used to hearing. Later on she would recognize that world-weary sigh as one of her mother's most distinguishing features. Her mother carried the sigh with her always, like how a Capitol woman might carry a favorite purse or hat.

This all happened the day of the accident. Marcella could never remember the accident itself. Her memory was often foggy. But she remembered hearing the crash. Several crashes, actually. She made her way down the stairs and found her mother akimbo on the landing of the stairs amongst broken shards of pottery, free soil, and cracked tile.

A long pale arm jutted out from under her mother. The arm jutted out from under in such a degree that the delicate wrist and hand levitated over her mother's back. It would later be stuck there in rigor mortis. Her mother's wedding ring sparkled brilliantly, Marcella remembered. She slid the ring off of her mother's finger and dropped it onto her own. It wasn't even close to fitting, but Marcella made a fist to balance the ring in place. She held her hand up to the light beams streaming in through the window. She smiled.

"That will teach you, mommy." Marcella could never remember whether or not she actually knew then that her mother was dead. She told herself that she hadn't known, which is what she had told everyone when questioned about why she hadn't called for help right away. Maybe that was true or maybe she had been convinced by her own lie. She tried not to think about it too much. But the now sixteen-year-old dreamt about it the morning of the reaping.

"Marcella?" Her father put a hand on her shoulder to stir her. She startled awake. She breathed heavily and her green eyes were bloodshot.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Marcella put a hand on her forehead and brushed back her long brown hair. "I just, I… I had a dream about her… I miss her so much, dad."

Her father hugged her. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"She would be so proud of you. Today is your day, Marcella. It's what you've been training for your whole life."

"I know," she sniffed.

"Come on," he said. "It's time to get ready. I've picked out a dress for you. Nobody will be able to take their eyes off of District 4's tribute—Marcella De Campo." He kissed her cheek.

"Thanks, dad."

* * *

Cefin towered over the other fourteen year old boys. He stood on the periphery of the boys' section, right next to the fifteen year old girls' section. He stood with some acquaintances from school, different ones than the day before. He surveyed the faces around him. The usually tan faces of District 4 were now painted with a ghastly pallor. Some lips quivered. Nobody smiled. He looked from side to side and then stared at his feet. It seemed the proper way to act. His eyes wandered back up, though, once the anthem started.

The Capitol's escort's heels clicked across the stage. She was a tall woman with large green-and-orange-stripped hair.

"Wonder if the carpet matches the drapes," a boy next to him said, playfully nudging an elbow into Cefin's ribs.

"Ha ha," Cefin replied.

"Those are some expensive drapes," another said.

"Probably an even more expensive carpet then. I wonder if there is a person in the Capitol whose job it is just to dye that kind of hair," the first chimed back.

"Ha ha," Cefin laughed again. The boy shot him a sideways glance.

The Escort's voice boomed out through the powerful speakers, "As always-ladies first!" The giant screen behind her displayed a shot of her hand reaching into a fish bowl of thin paper slips. Her French pressed nails alternated white and black. They tussled around the paper strips before the long nails pinched one—Cefin noticed that it was all nail and no finger by which she grabbed the paper.

"Ahem—Jet Astair!"

A girl to Cefin's left gasped. Her jaw dropped into a horrified expression. The girls next to her began to step away. Jet Astair wobbled a bit.

"There, there," Cefin said. He realized that was what he usually said to captured fish after bashing their heads in to stop their flopping. He extended an arm to pat her shoulder.

"I volunteer!" a voice cried out. A brunette girl in a white dress made her way up to the grandstand.

"And what is your name, miss?"

"Marcella De Campo!"

Cefin looked over to where some of the girl's friends were cheering.

"And next up, our boy tribute…"

"I'd like to De Camp-o her dr—"

"Pardon," Cefin interrupted whatever vulgar comment the boy was about to make. He began walking forward.

"I volunteer as tribute!" Cefin yelled. Other fourteen-year-old boys turned around in shock. He pushed through them to reach the front.

Marcella curtsied to him and smiled. He gave a small bow to her and winked. The crowd seemed to like that and swelled with cheers.

"You are?"

"Cefin Snider!"

The escort raised both of their hands.

* * *

Marcella was surrounded by her father and her friends in the Hall of Justice, a great looming building with Corinthian columns abound. The deliberately grandiose building knew exactly how out of place it was in the impoverished district, that was the point.

"Oh my gosh! Thanks you guys," Marcella squealed upon receiving her token, a charm resembling a drop of water. "I love it."

"We'll miss you, 'Cela!" her friends hugged her again.

"We'll have a huge party when you're back."

"I'll pack your things, they'll be all ready to move into the Victor's Village," her dad said. They all said one last goodbye and then the peacekeeper sternly herded them out. Marcella waved goodbye as the door slammed.

"Take a moment to get ready. We leave in five," the peacekeeper said. Marcella exhaled. She leaned back against the wall and slid her feet forward. She held up the charm inches away from her face.

"This little piece of bull shit is all you come up with?" She flicked it up and wrapped her hand around it, before stuffing it into her pocket. She cracked her neck to both sides and stood up.

* * *

Cefin's parents stood silently in the room with him. His brothers were all there, including the newlywed brother with his new wife. They were arrayed in a semi-circle before him. Cefin smiled without teeth.

"We just want to know why, son," his father said. "Why did you volunteer?"

Silence, then:

"It's funny," Cefin said. "You had all the time in the world to spend with me, but you never wanted to. Now we have mere minutes, and suddenly you care."

"Ce," his brother started.

"I don't want to hear it. You don't know me. Not one of you even knows me. But you will. You'll all learn who Cefin Snider really is. You'll learn with the rest of Panem." He spat onto the ornate floor of Justice building. The peacekeeper hadn't called time, but one by one his family shuffled out. Before his mother left, she placed a green bracelet on the table. She was crying, and paused as if to say something, but his father tugged at her shoulder and guided her out of the room. The peacekeeper shut the door.

"There, there," Cefin said to himself. He smiled.

* * *

**A/N: Two sociopaths from District 4-what are the odds? I hope I did the characters justice! What do you all think? I want to move through the reapings quickly, even though there are still many open tribute spots. I will be traveling abroad for two months and will be updating slower once I leave, but I hope to have half of the reapings done within the week. Ambitious? Maybe! We'll see.**


	4. District 5 Reaping

Luke and Lizzy Malvina watched raindrops splatter against the window of their home in District 5. Their house, rather their parents' house, was up on a hill with as scenic a view as one could have in District 5, although any view with District 5 in it couldn't really be called 'scenic.' Unless of course you were a fan of what pre-war artists and scholars called 'Urban Decay.' What a sign of luxury-that trash and rot and mammals with exposed ribs could be called 'art' and not just 'life.' Regardless, Luke and Lizzy thought it looked nice.

"If they had left on-time they would probably be here by now," Luke surmised. Their two faces were propped up by four elbows on the windowsill.

"Do you think they're okay?" Lizzy, twelve (three years Luke's junior) asked.

"Ha, yeah. They are responsible for the whole plant, Liz. If anyone has a problem it becomes their problem."

"Did they leave a note in the foyer?" Lizzy asked (most homes in District 5 don't have foyers, no matter how small, it goes without saying). Luke scratched at his shaggy brown hair; he hadn't even thought to check. He dashed across the wooden floor in his socks and slid over to the small table near the front door where their mother usually left notes. He found one:

'Luke and Lizzy, Your father and I will have to work late tonight—all sorts of tests before the reaping tomorrow. We'll be back later. There is a loaf of bread and some vegetables in the kitchen. Love, Mom'

"Get to the kitchen, dork!" the elder brother called. "I'll make you some dinner."

* * *

"Come on!" Lizzy yelled. She held Luke's hand and pulled him forward.

"We'll see you after!" Luke yelled over his shoulder to their mother and father as his sister pulled him towards the line to enter the reaping.

"What's the rush?"

"We don't want to get stuck standing in the crowded parts of our sections!"

"This is your first reaping—why do you think it will be crowded?"

"I don't know! I'm nervous! Now c'mon!"

"Alright, sis." Luke laughed and shook his head. They passed the peacekeepers, were scanned, and entered the reaping. They hugged and went to their own sections. Luke met up with his two best friends, really his only two friends, in the fifteen-year-old boys' section.

The three stood with their hands in their pockets. It was a gray and dismal day, and the occasional raindrop would escape downward.

The square was never as full as it was on reaping day. Luke looked around and then asked: "hm, is something going on today?" His friends both laughed. They were all a little nervous; they knew their chances were worse (in the sense that they were more likely to be picked, but of being picked their chances were technically 'better') than prior years' chances. However, after making it through three years without being picked, each doubted in an interior, unvoiced way that is was even possible for him to be picked.

The anthem played and the escort appeared before the microphone. He was a short, bald man with a maroon colored face.

"Ladies," he simply said into the microphone. A professional, apparently. He reached his hand, dyed the same color as his head, into the bowl. He read the slip silently, then spoke into the mic: "Lizzy Malvina!"

Luke felt his heart sink into his stomach. _I volunteer_ was the first thought that popped into his head. But he knew he couldn't. Not for a girl. He felt an arm wrap over his shoulder. He felt like his throat was closing up. _No, no, no_. Luke watched the crowd nudge his sister forward.

"Your female tribute!" the escort yelled. "And now, the boy." His hand went back in and out of the bowl. He read the name but hesitated before saying it. The escort looked up at the crowd and then back down at the name.

"Ahem...Luke Malvina," he announced. Murmurs erupted in the crowd. _What?_ Luke thought. He heard a shriek come from a woman in the crowd.

"Not both! You can't take both!" He heard his mother yell above the murmurs.

Luke felt like he must be dreaming. All he knew was that he was walking towards his sister. The tall boy broke into a jog and jumped up onto the stage. His sister tightly clasped onto him. He hugged her back. She was crying.

"Come on Liz, we've got to look strong," he whispered into the strawberry blonde hair pressed against his cheek. She nodded and turned. They grabbed each others hands and turned their piercing blue eyes to the audience.

"I'll see you on the train," Luke said.

"Huh?"

"They'll split us up for goodbyes. Here, this will be our token." Luke took a wooden heart from his pocket. He gently split it in half. "Careful of splinters," he said as he handed it to her. Upon reflection, a silly thing to say to someone going to the Hunger Games.

"We'll find a way," Lizzy said as she took it. "We'll both come home."

"Sure we will," Luke said, hugging her again. He felt the pull of a peacekeeper as he and Lizzy were separated.


	5. District 3 Reaping

Pixel Arlington tapped her pencil against her desk. The desk was plastic but was designed to look like wood. At the chalkboard her teacher had a diagram of a circuit with 'V=IR' written in chalk. There where some numbers with strange horseshoe shapes next to them. To Pixel it looked more like maze game for a little kid to complete than a circuit board. She yawned. You probably didn't need to know this stuff to work in the electronics factory. At least, her parents probably didn't. Then again maybe they did. What the hell did she know?

She felt light pressure on the shoulder of her sweater.

"Hm?" She turned around. The boy held out a small ripped out section of notebook paper. He nodded his head as if saying 'go on.' She slowly took the paper, looked back and forth between it and the boy, then turned back around.

She unfolded the note and read: _How do you kill a blonde?_ She turned the note over. The back of the paper read: _Put a scratch-and-sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool._

Pixel felt her brown eyes roll back into her head. She snorted. She tore out a piece of her own line notebook paper. In pen, she wrote:

_Good luck getting a sticker on the bottom of a pool, asshole. _

Pixel looked at it for a while then angrily crumpled up the note. It wasn't worth it, besides he'd just have some smartass retort like, 'drain it.' She was used to being tormented for her blonde hair. Her mother told her it was people's way of showing their jealousy of her beauty, but what Pixel wouldn't give to be the typical District 3 nerd with dark hair and glasses…

Pixel balled up her fists on her desk. She could feel her forehead getting hot. She even found herself wishing that the boy would be reaped tomorrow. She released a heavy sigh and slouched down in her desk. No she didn't. She didn't wish that on anyone.

* * *

Eol Farraday squinted into the fluorescent light. Silhouettes occasionally moved near the light's periphery, but he couldn't see to whom they belonged. That was okay. He knew who they were well enough. His dry tongue poked out of his mouth and got the metallic taste of blood from his swollen lip. He fidgeted. The rope that bound his wrists behind the chair was beginning to chafe.

"Let me get this straight," a peacekeeper's silhouette began, "you rob morphling dealers?"

Eol cleared his throat before he answered, "That's right." He shut one eye and scrunched up his face as he looked into the light. His dark, scraggly hair appeared not to have been washed in some time.

"Now why would you want to do something as dangerous as that?"

"This is Panem, man. You play the games whether you like it or not." Eol said. This received a laugh from his interviewer. Eol craned his neck to try and see the man's face but it was no use.

"How old are you?"

"About fifteen, maybe sixteen."

"How did you get to District 3?"

"Hopped on one of them shiny trains."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in District 6? There is no morphling here."

Now it was Eol's turn to laugh. "That what you think?" His voice was like a smooth middle C. He smiled. "Theres morphling in every neighborhood of every district. You just gotta know where to look." Eol shrugged.

"Bull shit—what are you doing here?" The peacekeeper stepped in front of the light and then slammed his fist into Eol's cheek. Eol let out a grunt and felt himself get thrown sideways. He'd have fallen out of the chair if he weren't tied to it. He looked down and saw some blood on his shirt.

"Who do you think I was creeping up on when you grabbed me?" Eol asked, his voice cracking a little bit. "I was about to rob that tall, bearded—"

"Mr. Selkirth? Is that who you mean? The man we caught you trying to rob?"

"Yeah-him. Hadn't been here for three days and I already knew he was holding."

"Mr. Selkirth is a known blackmarket vendor in District 3, but he's no morphling dealer."

"Maybe you wanna ask him again?" This earned Eol another blow to the face. "Ah, what the fuck, man?" He spat onto the silver table in front of him, expecting to see blood. He couldn't see if it was, but it sure tasted like it. The peacekeeper with the deep voice started talking again.

"Mr. Selkirth happens to be a generous donor to the peacekeepers in this district," the peacekeeper leaned forward so that Eol could see him in front of the light. The peacekeeper was a very large man with a round face and black hair. He smiled with bright white teeth.

"Aw fuck," Eol said.

"I think we have a way of dealing with scum like you. As you said, 'This is Panem. Everybody has to play the game.'" The peacekeeper grinned. Eol hung his head.

* * *

Pixel stood in her section with the other fifteen-year-old girls. She wore a light blue dress that made her tan look even better that it actually was. Her brown eyes were damp. She didn't bother trying to hide it, she had been crying.

"What's wrong, Pixel?" one of her few friends asked. "Don't be scared." Her friend put a hand on Pixel's shoulder.

"Scared?" Pixel asked, turning to her friend. Pixel brushed her blonde hair out of her face. She sniffled but didn't wipe at the tears on her cheeks. "I'm not scared. How can I be scared? I know what is going to happen. 25 children are going to kill each other. I am crying because it's shameful. Not because I'm afraid to die."

Her friend, a bit shocked, just gaped at her. Then the friend said under her breath, "Damn, Pixel." The anthem began to play and the girls turned to face the giant screen. The escort walked out. He walked quickly and fidgeted. Pixel thought by the way his eyes were darting around on the screen that he seemed a bit confused.

"Um… Boys first today. Why not?" the escort said into the mic. "Right, then." He dug his hand into the bowl of names and pulled one out, quickly. He hardly glanced at it before looking up and saying, "Eol Farraday!" From the left of the stage a peacekeeper thrust a boy into view. He stumbled a little bit, and made his way to the escort. The escort extended a hand for the boy to shake but the boy, Eol, went straight to the mic.

"Hi y'all," he said into it. The escort swatted him away. The peacekeeper raised a finger to his throat form stage left. Eol shrugged at the peacekeeper and then shuffled back behind the escort.

Pixel heard a few stifled laughs in the crowd.

"Do you know who that is?" her friend asked.

"No idea."

"Hm. Neither do I."

"Eherhm, now for the ladies," the escort announced. He seemed to put much more effort into mixing his hand around the bowl before grabbing a name this time. He pulled one.

"Pixel Arlington!" he said.

Pixel heard her friend gasp. Pixel puffed up her cheeks and blew some air out, luffing a loose strand of hair. She looked at her friend, the color drained from her face.

"Good thing I'm not afraid to die," Pixel absentmindedly said to no one. She stepped forward and entered the gap that the parting crowd made and followed it all the way to the front of the stage. As she was climbing the steps she realized it might benefit her to dry her cheeks. She dabbed at them with the collar of her dress. She got to the stage and stood next to the ratty looking boy they had called.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Pixel Arlington and Eol Farraday! Your tributes from District Three!"

Pixel watched Eol wave and smile. He turned to her and then made an exaggerated bowing motion. He stood back up, smiling at her. He was missing a tooth next to one of his canines.

"Charmed," he said.

"Uh, likewise?" Pixel responded.

"Guess we the Three tributes, huh?"

"I guess so... Or the two anyway." Pixel smiled weakly. She felt a peacekeeper's hand on her back as she was pushed along towards the Justice building.


End file.
